


The Fine Arts of Repression and Re-acquisition

by Nicnac



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicnac/pseuds/Nicnac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how the realizations made by one Clark Jerome Kent, a.k.a. Superman, on February 22, 2022 about one Alexander Joseph Luthor, a.k.a. Lex, would irrevocably change Lex's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fine Arts of Repression and Re-acquisition

**Author's Note:**

> So for this I'm totally going to steal from the Harry Potter fandom and say EWE (epilogue, what epilogue? specifically the seven years later bit in the finale). Also I'm going to tack on CWC (comics) and TTWTT (time travel, though really just the one where the world's oldest Brainiac 5 (I'm sorry James Marsters, please forgive me!) takes Clark to see his future)
> 
> There really should be a shorter way to say all that. no ECTT? N-ECTT? N-CETT? That's it, N-CETT. Make a note of it, because that's totally what I'm using from now on. Oh, also N-CEMTT can mean the same thing, only also including no Memory loss for Lex. 
> 
> But yes, this story is N-CETT.

On Tuesday, February 22, 2022 at 2:22 am (and thirty-nine seconds) the world’s longest game of mental connect-the-dots was finally completed as one Clark Jerome Kent, a.k.a. Superman, came to a realization that was twenty years, four months and six days overdue. The shock of this sent him plummeting from the air and nearly caused him to crash-land into the Pacific Ocean. The next realization came approximately twenty-six seconds after the first, and actually did cause him to crash. He looked around furtively, hoping that there were no fish nearby that might be inclined to repeat this story to Arthur, and then took off again, high-tailing it back to Metropolis. His first reaction, spanned out over the next week, consisted of copious amounts of largely ineffective alcohol, excessive denial, gratuitous violence, a plethora of other, equally ineffective, mind-altering drugs, unnecessary whining, and more brooding than anyone without super human powers would be capable of.

But that’s not what this story is about. This story is about one Alexander Joseph Luthor, a.k.a. Lex, and how the realizations of one Clark Jerome Kent would irrevocably change his life.

*~*~*~*

Lex woke up precisely one minute before the time his alarm was set at. He allowed himself fifty-five seconds to transition from a sleeping state to a waking one, before reaching over and turning the alarm off, three seconds before it would began beeping. Lex, technically, did not know what his alarm sounded like. His morning routine, strange though it might seem to some, was so deeply ingrained into his synapses that even complete memory loss at the hands of his, vengeful assumedly, half-sister and a still unidentified neurotoxin couldn’t shake it.

From there his day began as normal, from the oversized bed to the en-suite bathroom, from the bathroom to the walk-in closet. As he was headed from the closet to the luxuriously appointed kitchen, his attention was caught by something sitting on the table out on the small balcony off his bedroom. Small here being a relative term, compared to the larger balcony off his living room, which might more properly be termed a rooftop garden.

Lex debated his options. He could go and check out the unidentified object himself, though his security team doubtless wouldn’t be too pleased if he did. Or he could call the security team up and have them look at it first, which would take much longer. True, there were a large number of people who wanted him dead, if for no other reason than he was a very powerful and wealthy man, but on the other hand, there were very few people that _could_ have left something out there; it wasn’t the most accessible place in the city. The vast majority of people who would be capable of doing it were members of the Justice League, who were theoretically bound by a moral code not to hurt innocent people. Lex didn’t particularly trust them to keep to that credo, but he did trust that they wouldn’t want to upset Superman, who, despite the low levels of animosity that simmered between the two of them, had a vested interest in Lex’s continued well-being. Why, Lex hadn’t the faintest, but the desire was consistent enough that Lex felt he could rely on it.

Decision made, Lex slid open the door and walked over to the table. The object was a model car, specifically a Porsche 911 SC in Gemini Blue. It was incredibly detailed, down to a miniature license plate that read “LEX 01.” It was also broken. The front was dented inward, the top of the driver’s side windshield had a hole punched in it, and both the passenger side door and a piece of the roof were missing.

The obvious interpretation of this little gift was it was a threat of some kind. But that didn’t seem right, in no small part because he didn’t even own a car of that model. Aside from that, it just didn’t _feel_ right. And he hated that, having to rely on instincts and gut feelings rather than logic and facts, but there it was. The car pulled at him in a way that nothing had since, well, since Lex decided that if he couldn’t _have_ his memories, then he wasn’t going to leave all sorts of reminders scattered about in his daily life. It was too damn distracting, and frustrating. He should just put the thing back down; ask the staff to throw it out like the rest of the junk from Before.

He took it inside and set down on his bedside table. He’d figure out where to keep it later.

*~*~*~*

Dull was not a word Lex ever thought he’d used to describe an interview with _The Daily Planet_. Any interviews he gave invariably went to the Lane-Kent team, and while Lex might not like the woman, there was no denying she made for an interesting time. Clever questions and quick wits and she always kept Lex on his toes. But today, Lane was otherwise occupied, so Lex had been stuck with just Kent, who was meek, unassuming, and just generally as dull as dishwater.

Kent glanced up from his notes, then suddenly fixed Lex with a sharp look. Somewhat surprising, since Lex hadn’t even known the man _could_ look sharp. “I’m boring you aren’t I?”

Lex felt the urge to go wide-eyed in shock at that pronouncement, so he settled on raising his eyebrows slightly. “You just look like you’re bored,” Kent explained.

Clearly, Lex had been underestimating this man. Lex’s poker face was infamous. People far shrewder than Kent, or at least shrewder than Lex had assumed Kent to be, had been stumped by it.

There was little point in lying. If Kent really had been able to pick up on Lex’s boredom, then he probably catch a lie too. Instead, Lex went for the, relatively, tactful non-answer. “I’m afraid I don’t care for reporters much.”

Kent’s lips quirked up in an amused smile. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Most of them have an obsession with airing out my dirty laundry for me. Though I suppose we all have to take a look at our dark side sooner or later,” Lex returned, his tone light.

“Be careful,” Kent warned him jokingly. “If you stare at it long enough, it can get hard to tell the two sides apart.”

Well, Kent was just full of surprises today, wasn’t he? “That’s a little morbid,” Lex observed.

“It’s something a friend of mine said to me once,” Kent replied. “He was a really great guy, my best friend, but in retrospect I don’t think he liked himself all that much back then.”

“He’s better now, then? Or…?” Good God, how in the world had Lex got himself into a conversation about Kent’s potentially suicidal friend?

“Oh, no he’s fine,” Kent assured him. “I don’t know if I would say he’s better… the self-esteem issues don’t seem to bother him as much anymore, but I don’t really get the feeling that he’s happy either, you know? I get the impression he’s more just going through the motions most of the time. But then, what do I know? I haven’t really talked to him in years; our friendship – exploded is the word I think I’d use.”

“That’s too bad,” Lex offered, somewhat uncertainly. He didn’t _do_ emotions.

“It really is,” Kent agreed. His eyes had that sad distance in them that Lex would have expected, but at the same time his gaze was intently focused on Lex, as though Kent were trying to pin him in place.

“I think we got a bit off-track here,” Lex suggested after a few seconds.

Kent very nearly visibly snuck back into himself, returning to his boring standard. “You’re right. Now regarding…”

*~*~*~*

Lex opened the mini fridge in his home office to find that the staff had replaced his normal water with some new kind in blue bottles. He picked one up and, after checking the seal, broke it open and took a sip.

“Ty Nant,” he said, reading the label out loud.

He took another gulp. This stuff was fairly good; he’d have to have them start stocking it in his regular office too.

*~*~*~*

Lex gazed around the room, bored again. He found that it was a rare charity gala that was even remotely enjoyable.

“Mr. Luthor,” greeted a pleasant voice just behind him. Lex turned to see Kent wearing a tuxedo that was just as frumpy and ill-fitting as his other suits and a crooked bow tie.

“Lex, please,” Lex said. He put up with Mr. Luthor in business meeting and interviews and the like for the respect the title gave him, but something about actually being called Mr. Luthor just didn’t sit well with him. Because of that, he avoided it as often as he could.

“Lex then,” conceded Kent. Then, dropping his voice to a stage whisper, “It’s alright; you can stare. I know the tie’s crooked.”

Lex let out a burst of startled laughter. “It’s pretty bad,” he agreed. “Did no one teach you how to tie one of those?”

“My friend tried, but I guess I wasn’t a particularly apt student,” Kent replied.

“Is that the same friend?” Lex asked.

“Yeah, same guy.”

“Have you had a chance to talk to him since then?” said Lex, figuring he could do worse for small talk than the as of late mysterious Kent. Even if that crooked bow tie was supremely annoying.

“Oh, I’ve seen him around,” Kent said vaguely. “But the truth is he’s kind of forgotten about me.” A week and a half ago the idea of someone being able to completely forget Kent wouldn’t have even remotely surprised Lex, but a week and a half ago, Lex also hadn’t been aware of the depth Kent was apparently hiding in him.

“He can’t be as great a guy as you claimed if forgot you when the two of you used to be so close,” Lex observed.

“There’s some other stuff going on in his life; I don’t blame him. Besides, we haven’t talked for… almost eleven years now. And we hadn’t been friends for at least a good six years before that.”

“And yet you’ve brought him up both the past two times we’ve talked,” Lex pointed out, though he may have undermined himself by staring at Kent’s neck while he said it. Damn that stupid bow tie was distracting.

Kent shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t’ blame him. You know,” he continued, bending his knees a little to bring his eyes back into Lex’s line of sight, “if it’s bothering you that much, you’re welcome to fix it.”

Lex’s fingers twitched. He really wanted to fix the fucking tie. And that in itself was a bit disturbing. It wasn’t like this was the first crooked bow tie he had ever seen; why the hell was _Kent’s_ tie bothering him so much?

“It’s fine,” Lex answered. He was not going to give into weird urges he didn’t understand.

“Suit yourself,” Kent replied. “I’ll just go inflect this horrid thing on someone else, shall I?” With that Kent wandered off, ending up in a surprisingly animated conversation with the Queens.

Lex’s fingers itched for the rest of the night.

*~*~*~*

Lex paced back and forth in the parking lot, trying to work through the adrenaline. Minutes ago he had been contentedly zooming along in one of his cars when out of fucking nowhere a giant foot had placed itself right in the middle of the road not twenty feet in front of him. He had slammed on the brakes and braced himself for the oncoming impact when Superman had picked up the car and dropped it off in the parking lot Lex was now inhabiting. Then Superman had flown right back off to fight the huge robot-doll-thing the Toyman had seen fit to inflict on Metropolis. Bastard.

Just as Lex was thinking he was calm enough to continue driving, Superman returned, having apparently finished fighting the giant doll.

“Are you alright, Luthor?”

“I’m just _fucking_ dandy, _Superman_. And what the hell kind of Nietzsche bullshit is the name Superman, anyway?” Okay, so clearly not as calm as he could have hoped.

Superman, unpredictably, was not offended by or disappointed in Lex’s reaction. Instead, he let out a low chuckle and said “You’d have to ask Lois Lane, she’s the one that came up with it. But if it bothers you that much, I do have other names.”

“Other names?” Lex repeated, perking up a bit. Not that he was particularly invested in knowing Superman’s secret identity, but if the man was just going to tell him…

“Not that one,” Superman responded, correctly guessing the direction of Lex’s thoughts. “I was thinking more like Naman.”

“Your real name is Naman?” Lex asked. It was probably one of the most disappointing alien names he had ever heard. It didn’t even have and weird spaces or hyphens.

“No,” Superman answered. “Naman is another title, given to me by the Kawatche people. He’s a legend who comes from the sky, with the power of ten men and the ability to shoot fire from his eyes, and save the Kawatches. I’ve talked to a few of them, and apparently they think it’s me.”

“My options are Nietzsche or a Native American legend?” Because it was honestly hard to say which of those was worse.

“Or there’s Kal-El; that’s my birth name.” Oh, see that sounded satisfyingly alien. Not as good as if it had some sort of unpronounceable sound in there, but at least there appeared to be an apostrophe or space of some sort.

Superman’s head cocked in a listening sort of way, and a second later he turned back to Lex. “Duty calls. Oh, and Luthor?” Superman’s lips quirked up in an amused smile and something in Lex’s memory tugged. “Drive slower.”

*~*~*~*

Lex walked out of the coffee shop and straight into someone. Aforementioned someone then grabbed a slightly off-balance Lex by the shoulders and said, “Whoa there. Sorry Lex.” Lex, eyes on his coffee to make sure it didn’t spill, prepared to tell this stranger off for a) not watching where he was going (never mind that Lex hadn’t been either), b) invading Lex’s personal space (never mind that he had only been trying to make sure that Lex didn’t fall) and c) addressing Lex so casually when they didn’t even know each other. Then Lex looked up.

Lex had always known that he wasn’t exactly a zero on the Kinsey scale; there had been a number of men over the years that Lex had thought were attractive. Still, he had never been attracted _to_ any of them, a subtle but important distinction. As such, he had felt relatively comfortable as classifying himself as straight, rather than bisexual. That, however, was about to change, because apparently dark lightly curled hair, bright green eyes, full plush lips, and a body Adonis would envy was exactly Lex’s type in a guy. Lex was so stunned by _this_ revelation that it was a few seconds before he realized that he _knew this person_.

“Kent?” he said, his voice miraculously not coming out as a squeak.

“Yeah, hey,” Kent said, a suspiciously familiar amused smile sitting on his lips.

“You look different,” Lex observed. The horrible looking glasses were completely gone, and the slightly baggy suits had been replaced by a worn and faded pair of jeans and a white cotton shirt that was _just_ this side of too small. Why didn’t Kent dress like this all the time? Screw professionalism, if he showed up to a press conference in jeans and a t-shirt he’d have everyone eating out of the palm of his hands.

“No work today,” Kent said with a shrug. “I decided to dress casual.”

“And the glasses?” Lex asked.

“I can get by without them, though I usually don’t try. But I just didn’t feel like wearing them today.”

“It’s a good look for you,” Lex told him, officially using up the rest of his understatement privileges for the year.

“Thanks,” Kent said, breaking out into a grin so bright it was practically luminescent. At the sight of that, everything in Lex’s brain shifted and suddenly clicked. Despite the presence of several witnesses, to his dying day Lex will deny what happened after that.

Lex fainted.

*~*~*~*

Lex came to slowly, his head swimming in an overabundance of knowledge. He was laying down on something comfortable, a couch he thought, and there was someone else there with him, moving about nervously. Lex’s eyes fluttered open.

“Oh, good you’re up.” Clark swept in and gently helped Lex sit up, smiling reassuringly. “I was really worried when you just passed out like that. Are you okay now? Do you want something to drink?”

Not quite trusting himself to speak yet, Lex nodded and Clark reached over to the end table, handing Lex the glass of water that had been sitting there waiting for him. Lex sipped at it slowly while trying to get his mental framework back under control. Clark was watching him, clearly worried and ready to jump in if it looked like Lex needed help. It was kind of cute.

Lex finished his water, and surrendered the glass to Clark’s outstretched hand. “Clark,” he said, “if this is the same couch from your loft, I’m not forgiving you. It can’t possibly be sanitary.”

“Of course it isn’t! And even if it was it’s not like I would have had it cleaned since…” Clark answered automatically, slowing down and trailing off as the implications of what Lex had said sunk in. “Lex?” he asked, voice amazingly full of hope for how small it was

“Clark,” Lex answered, smirking.

Suddenly Lex found himself embraced in a hug that was like the one he and Clark shared when Lex had returned from the island, but _more_ in a way Lex couldn’t really qualify.

“I can’t believe it worked,” Clark said grinning goofily. He had pull back far enough that Lex could see Clark’s face again, but had not actually relinquished his hold on Lex yet.

“So you _were_ trying to retrigger my memories?” Lex asked. He had suspected as much, but he had a lot of information to sort through and very little time in which to do it so far.

“Yep,” said Clark.

“Why?” Lex and Clark hadn’t really been on the best of terms when Lex had lost his memories, and it’s not as though Lex had done anything to endear himself to Clark since then. He had ignored Kent for the most part and while Lex and Superman weren’t enemies per se, they hadn’t gotten along at all either. What could have possibly made Clark go to the effort?

“Because,” Clark replied, his smile growing even wider, if that was possible. Then he kissed Lex.

Oh. Good answer.

*~*~*~*

On the morning of March 22, 2022, Lex was woken by an annoying beeping sound. It was familiar, but in that distant unreachable way that his older memories got sometimes. He drifted for a good minute or so, trying to place the sound when a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Le-e-ex,” Clark whined. “Turn off your alarm.”

That’s what it was. Lex sat up and turned off the alarm as asked. He looked over at the bathroom, and then back down at the sleep-warm body sprawled across his bed. Reaching over to the bedside table, he knocked his Porsche model before picking up his cell. Lex hit the speed-dial for his personal assistant and, as soon as she picked up, announced, “I’m taking a personal day.” He hung up before she could answer, and set the phone back on the table.

 That taken care off, Lex laid down next to Clark again. Clark, always eager for any opportunity to “snuggle,” wrapped his arms around Lex and cuddled up next to him. Lex happily reciprocated.

The two were fast asleep within minutes. 


End file.
